What Dreams May Come
by I am The Lev
Summary: After Morgan cooks dinner for Much's birthday, the outlaws discover that her cooking is not to be eaten before bed, or at all, for that matter.
1. Much and Will

"Are you sure you can handle this?" Robin asked, arms folded across his chest. Morgan nodded eagerly.

"No problem, Robin. Just take everyone and go for the day," she reassured, turning Robin around and giving him a light push. She seemed excited to be able to help, as always. Robin glanced over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Morgan," he smiled. If he had known what lied ahead, he might not have left her by herself.

---

"Master, what's going on?" Much asked, reaching for the blindfold. Robin slapped his hand.

"Relax, Much," he repeated for the tenth time. As before, it had little effect on Much's disposition.

"I do not understand. We spend all day in Nottingham, but we don't rob the Sheriff. We get tired, but we don't return to camp! Now you've blindfolded me! Is something wrong?" he asked. Robin laughed, tearing the blindfold from Much's eyes.

"Happy birthday, Much!" Everyone shouted. A smile flew across Much's features.

"For me?" he asked, looking at the small bundles in everyone's hands. They nodded.

"You shouldn't have!" Despite his exclamation, he gratefully accepted the bundles, ripping them all open. Djaq had managed to get hold of spices for him. Will had made a box for him to keep his cooking supplies in. Little John had gotten him a thick blanket, knowing that Much often complained of the cold. Robin had bought him a small cake.

"Thank you!" he smiled, holding all of the gifts in his arms. "I'll start cooking dinner right away!" Robin's smile widened.

"No need. It's your birthday, Much. You deserve a day off," he explained. "Morgan volunteered to cook."

The gang headed back to the camp, where Morgan was putting the last touches on dinner. She looked like a complete mess, as if she'd spent the day fighting rather than cooking a meal.

"Happy birthday, Much!" she smiled, handing him a plate. Much tilted his head to the side. He wasn't exactly sure what was on it. He believed that at some point it had been meat and vegetables, but there was no way to be sure. Morgan passed out plates to everyone. The maybe-food garnered a similar reaction all around.

Much poked at the food with his fork. At least it didn't poke back. Morgan smiled at everyone expectantly, something so hopeful in her eyes that they all felt incredibly guilty, taking a bite of the meal, trying to hide the difficulty that came with swallowing. Afraid of hurting her feelings, they took several, healthy-sized bites.

"I'll go to get some water!" Morgan announced happily, seeming not to notice the apprehensive glances that her cooking received. She skipped out of camp, bucket in tow, heading towards the stream. There was a sort of rush as everyone scraped the rest of their food onto one plate. Much hurriedly flicked the concoction into the woods.

"Who decided that she would cook?" he asked. Everyone slowly turned to Robin, who looked down at his now-empty plate and shrugged sheepishly.

"Happy birthday?" he suggested.

"Did you bother to ask her if she knew how to cook?" Djaq asked in a hushed voice.

"She said that she could handle it," he whispered back. Morgan returned, with a bucket full of water, which everyone was eager to dip into. Morgan noted all of the empty plates.

"Wow, you lot really inhaled it!" she exclaimed with notable surprise. "What did you think?"

"I've never had anything like it before," Little John admitted. Morgan seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Good. Well, I'm going to go for a walk. I haven't left camp all day! Happy birthday, Much!" she repeated before walking cheerfully from the sheltered camp. As soon as she had disappeared from view, Much spoke.

"I promise. I will never have a birthday again."

---

Morgan walked along, happy that she had been able to contribute to Much's birthday. He was always so nice to her; she felt that she could at least cook a nice meal for him. Sure, she hadn't ever cooked anything before. Even when she had been caring for her mum, one of her neighbors had been kind enough to cook for them, as long as Morgan paid for the ingredients. All she ever had to do was put the pot of stew over the fire and heat it up. Still, there couldn't have been that much to it. She'd watched Much cook all the time, and simply copied what he did.

She seen him boil water, toss in ingredients, and presto! There was dinner. So, she'd boiled water, tossed in some cabbage and venison and crushed up leaves. She wasn't sure what the leaves were for, but she'd often seen Much sprinkle crushed leaves on their dinner. It had thickened up, and it didn't look like anything that Much had ever served them, but Morgan was pretty sure it was because she'd used a different sort of leaf.

"I'm glad that it turned out alright," she said to herself.

---

"I suppose it's the thought that counts," Will spoke up, breaking the stretch of silence that had fallen. Morgan's cooking had left the whole group feeling slightly ill. "Slightly" being the understatement of the century.

"What exactly was she thinking? 'Happy birthday. Have some food poisoning'?" Robin asked, hands on his stomach. He was started to get sleepy, though it wasn't the contented, full sort of sleepy that he got from Much's cooking. It was a groggy, muddled feeling. Just what had she put in that whatever-it-was?

"What do we tell her when she gets back?" Djaq asked, concerned about her friend's feelings. "She'll notice that we're all sick."

"We could tell her that she's a terrible cook," Much muttered under his breath, though he didn't really mean it. His stomach gave a lurch. Okay, maybe he meant it a little.

"We could tell her that it was something that we ate in town earlier," Robin proposed. No one answered him. He blinked, about to open his mouth to say something when sleep abruptly swallowed him.

---

"Stop laughing, Allan," Morgan pouted. Allan hadn't stopped snickering since she'd told him about Much's birthday dinner. They were in Allan's little cottage in Locksley. Morgan noted that Allan was cooking a stew, the hearty smell wafting from the pot over the fire. He was an excellent cook, a fact that he had always hidden, partially to maintain his "manly" image and partially because he was lazy. Had the gang known about his cooking ability, he would have ended up alternating kitchen duty with Much.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized, stirring the pot in front of him. "Not being funny, but you're a terrible cook, Morgan." Morgan sighed and allowed him to finish laughing before she continued.

"How do you know? I've never cooked before!" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Allan raised his hand.

"That's how I know. Go on then, what did you make?" he asked, eager to here the answer.

"I don't know. Venison and vegetables and herbs," she rattled off the ingredients.

"What kind of herbs?" Allan inquired, sprinkling some salt in the stew. Morgan reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of leaves.

"This kind," she explained, thrusting the foliage in Allan's direction. He looked at the leaves in her hand and cracked up. Morgan didn't see what was so funny.

"Morgan, you do know that those leaves are used for making sleeping drafts?" he managed between fits of laughter. Morgan paled, which Allan seemed to notice. He stopped laughing and cleared his throat.

"Of course, it's harmless. Just puts people to sleep for a while," he explained hastily. Morgan stared at him for a moment, unmoving. He was pretty sure that she didn't want to hear that she'd just drugged the entire gang, so he grabbed a bowl from his table, ladling stew into it and pushing it towards her.

"Stew?"

---

Much was staring down a long table, covered in food. There was venison. There was lamb. There was pork. There was beef. There was chicken. There were platters of vegetables. There were large slabs of cake. He smiled and reached towards the table, only to find that he couldn't reach it. He frowned. He reached again. The table that was so painfully close remained out of his reach.

"Odd," he muttered. He looked to his right, surprised to see Robin sitting next to him, scooping food onto a plate.

"What's the matter, Much? You aren't hungry?" he asked.

"I can't reach the table," Much explained flatly. He reached with his arm to demonstrate, only to stick his hand into an apple pie. He quickly withdrew his hand, shaking the bits of dessert off of it.

"Master, just what is going on?" Robin smiled.

"It's your birthday, Much. Enjoy!" he encouraged, handing over a plate of Much's favorite foods. Much took the plate, plucking a piece of lamb from the plate and putting it past his lips. He winced. It tasted like cloth.

"Odd," he repeated with his mouth full.

---

Morgan felt horrible. She'd returned to camp, watching her friends as they suffered through the sleep that her cooking had forced on them. Much had fallen asleep sitting up, chewing on his sleeve. Morgan prodded him in the shoulder.

"Much? Are you alright?" she asked. He muttered something about pork and fell to the side. Morgan glanced around camp, the sinking feeling in her stomach worsening as she looked at each of her friends. Although, she admitted to herself, Will made her laugh.

He was the only one who had made it to his bed, but it seemed that he had fallen asleep in the middle of climbing into it, one of his legs hanging off of the bed, kicking occasionally.

---

He was dressed like a knight, standing proud in his armor. The army of evil knights, that, oddly enough, seemed to be made of little Sheriffs, was running away in fear. He gave chase, striking them down in the name of justice.

"Please, Sir William! We promise to be good!" the little Sheriffs were pleading. Will considered them for a moment.

"Go on. Get out of here. Never let me see you again!" he commanded, smiling as the little Sheriffs tripped over themselves, scrambling to get away.

"Sir William, you've done it!" The voice was a familiar one that made Will smile and blush, even in his dreams. He turned on heel to see Djaq walking towards him, dressed in a beautiful, flowing, white dress. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"All in a days work, Princess," he said casually. "And, may I say, you look quite lovely in that dress." Will reflected on the boldness of his actions, literally sweeping Princess Djaq off her feet.

"If I may, milady?" he asked, nodding at his white steed.

"Of course, Sir William," Princess Djaq permitted, allowing him to carry her off into the sunset on the proud, white horse.

---

Hurray! That's chapter one all taken care of. This is meant to be a cute, silly little story. I'll be posting Djaq and Little John's dreams in the next chapter, and if you have any suggestions, let me know!


	2. Djaq and John

Will was smiling in his sleep, mumbling as he slept. Morgan grabbed his leg and moved it into the bed, covering him with his blanket. She dragged Much to his own bed, covering him with his new blanket. Djaq was sprawled across one of the benches. She was small enough that she fit comfortably on it, so Morgan grabbed the blanket from her bed and draped it over her friend.

She had really made a mess of things. She was sure that Djaq, who was so very astute, would figure out her idiotic mistake. Morgan thought about it for a moment. It wasn't like she _meant_ to knock them all out. She was only trying to do something nice. She noted the half-smile on Djaq's face, wondering what her friend was dreaming about.

---

Djaq was standing on the deck of a ship, the salty sea air blowing through her hair. A crew of rather surly looking men were swarming about on deck, performing menial tasks.

"Captain Djaq!" The man perched in the crow's nest sounded ecstatic, pointing across the water. "A ship off of the port bow!" Djaq ran to the left side of the ship, not needing the telescope at her waist to see the beautifully made vessel.

"Prepare to board!" she commanded, smiling with anticipation as her ship closed in on the unsuspecting vessel. "Remember, men! This ship is carrying funds overseas! Funds to continue the war in the Holy Lands! I say we take that money and make good use of it!" The men clapped at her speech, sailing parallel to the other ship.

"Go to, men!" Djaq hollered, drawing her sword and pointing with it. The men laid down the boards, making their way across. Her first mate led them, cutting through the soldiers. Djaq herself swung across on a rope, laughing as the soldiers tried to stop her. She tore across the deck of the other ship, brandishing her sword.

"Captain!" She turned at the sound of her first mate. He was surrounded by soldiers. She thought quick, running to the railing of the ship, grabbing the rope. She took a few steps back and got a running start, swinging down on the soldiers. She beat down the rest, standing protectively in front of her first mate, her ears turning red as her hugged her in thanks.

"Thanks, Captain." He said softly, giving her that rare smile that always made her heart flutter.

"Not a problem, Mister Scarlet."

---

Morgan had been trying to move Little John for nearly ten minutes. The fact of the matter was that Little John was not little, whereas Morgan was. He was lying in the middle of the floor, snoring loudly. Morgan tugged at his arm, trying to at least pull him over to his bed. Her hands slipped off of the slick material of his coat, causing her to fall back onto her bum. She bit back a swear, standing and rubbing her backside.

"Do you need help with that?" Allan's voice asked from the entrance. Morgan glanced over her shoulder, smiling.

"Please. Not being funny, but he weighs a ton." Allan walked over, looking around the camp at the unconscious outlaws.

"I wasn't talking about Little John," he said flirtatiously, wriggling his eyebrows at Morgan's backside. She turned a bright red and gave him a swift punch in the arm.

"Ow! I was only joking, Morgan!" he laughed, rubbing at the now throbbing spot on his arm. She didn't say anything; Allan guessed it was because she was embarrassed. She did, however, pick up Little John's right arm, giving him a look that said "Well? Are you going to help or not?"

Allan helped her lift Little John, pulling him over to his bed. Thankfully, the man didn't sleep on a loft.

"Isn't it dangerous for you to come here? What if Guy saw you?" Morgan asked, though she wasn't complaining about his company. He smirked, know that she had only asked the question to change the subject, steering away from his flirting.

"He didn't. Don't worry. I just came to make sure that you had everything under control," he reassured. Morgan smiled, pulling John's blankets over his body.

"For the most part," she answered, turning to Little John.

In contrast to everyone else, Little John was not smiling. There was a look of panic to his features. Morgan speculated that perhaps he was having a nightmare. A nightmare about what, though? She tilted her head to the side. What could Little John possibly be afraid of?

---

John was surrounded by the rest of the gang, only something was most definitely different. He somehow knew that it was the gang, but he couldn't explain for the life of him why they were all children.

"John, Robin won't stop picking on me!" The child Much complained, hiding behind John's legs. The child Robin was chasing him down, holding an acorn in a slingshot, playfully threatening the annoyed Much.

"John, can I have a pony?" Little Will asked softly, tugging on John's coat. John scruffed Little Robin, lifting him off of the ground to stop him from picking on Little Much. He started to answer Little Will's question, but Little Djaq and Little Morgan suddenly broke into a wild argument.

"I'm louder!" Little Djaq yelled.

"No, _I'm_ louder!" Little Morgan screamed back. They continued to yell at one another while Little Robin struggled valiantly in John's arms, trying to return to his game of chasing Little Much.

John loved children as much as the next person. One of his greatest regrets was not being able to raise his son. But the frenetic energy of the child version of the gang was beginning to stress him out.

"Will, we don't have a pony. Only horses, and you're too small to ride one," he tried to calmly explain. Little Will looked down at the forest floor. John would've felt bad, but Little Robin had wormed out of is grasp and was chasing Little Much in circles around John.

"Much, do not be so easily wounded!" he giggled.

"I'M LOUDER!" Little Djaq shrieked.

"NO, _I'M_ MORE LOUDER!" Little Morgan returned. John was going to stop them from screaming, but Little Much had started to climb on him in an attempt to get away from Little Robin and his slingshot.

"John, I'm hungry," Little Will whined, tugging on John's coat.

"Chicken!" Little Robin laughed at Little Much. "Caw ca-caw! Caw ca-caw!" He started into a bizarre dance, scratching his feet against the ground and clapping his hands.

"That's not what a chicken sounds like!" Little Much called from on top of John's shoulders.

"I want some chicken," Little Will mumbled.

John often joked to himself that the rest of the gang was like a bunch of children, but seeing the joke realized made it a lot less funny. It was a nightmare.

---

There's chapter two! I hope you guys liked it. Little John's dream is probably my favorite so far. Even though Much acts like the Mother of the group, it always seems that John is the parental figure in the group. I just thought it was fun to write. XD

And, yes. Little Robin's chicken dance looks like GOB's chicken dance on Arrested Development. You don't have t get that reference, that was mostly for me.


	3. Robin and Morgan

Morgan was trying to pry the Prince of Thieves from one of the camp's support beams. He was hugging it tightly as he slept, refusing to let go as Morgan tried to get him to his bed. She glanced over at Allan, worried that he would be missed if he stayed any longer. She was also worried about what would happen if the gang woke up and Allan was still there. She pulled at Robin's hand again, trying to pull him from the beam.

"C'mon, Robin, let go," she urged, managing to loosen one of his hands. To her dismay, he grabbed her by the wrist, his grip like iron. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she muttered, ignoring Allan, who was sniggering. She managed to pull Robin away from the support beam, moving him into a sitting position before yanking him to his feet, pulling him towards his bed. He stood for a moment, swaying slightly before he fell forward, wrapping his arms around Morgan in a tight hug.

"Marian," he sighed contentedly. Allan sat forward, his laughter suddenly dying off.

"Not being funny, but if he doesn't stop, I'll have to hit him," he muttered. Morgan walked slowly backwards, dragging Robin to his bed, sparing a smile for Allan.

"What's wrong? Jealous?" she joked. Robin tightened his grip on her, repeating Marian's name. Morgan gave an involuntary gasp. If this was how Robin gave affectionate hugs, she was glad that she wasn't Marian. She pried Robin off of her, helping him into his bed, for which Allan was glad. She turned just in time to miss his faint blush.

---

Robin had been talking to Marian, hugging her tightly, afraid to let go. Suddenly, she simply wasn't there. Robin looked around, confused. The field of flowers disappeared around him, and he was suddenly standing in sand. He looked down. He was wearing his Crusader's uniform, but this wasn't like any of the dreams he'd had about the Crusades.

"Robin, look alive!" A cheery voice warned. Robin turned, catching the ration of food that was flying at his head. He looked at the man who'd thrown it. Morgan's brother. "You alright, then, Robin?"

"I feel ill," Robin answered earnestly, "I've had some of Morgan's cooking." Michael burst into the loud, unrestrained laughter that he had become known for throughout the King's personal guard. Even though his stomach still ached, Robin joined in the laughter.

"That is unfortunate," Michael finally smiled. "On the bright side, you could use the food against the Turks." Robin laughed. In the year that he had spent back in England, he had nearly forgotten Michael, but having Morgan around reminded him of her brother.

"Master!" Much called, rounding the corner. "Is it time to go home now?"

With Much's comment, Robin was suddenly very aware that he was dreaming. He looked around him, and the Holy Lands slowly became Sherwood Forest. He slowly felt himself waking up.

---

Allan had just left, having to return before he was missed. Morgan yawned, lying on her loft, trying to stay awake. She hoped that the gang wouldn't be too mad at her for knocking them out. If they were mad, she had at least come up with a way to use her recipe to their advantage.

She rolled onto her stomach, staring into the fire. She watched the flickering flames, feeling her eyelids growing heavier. Gradually, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

---

She was running through an open field, laughing as she relished the feel of the soft grass beneath her feet. There was nothing but that grassy field as far as she could see. She welcomed it, exhilarated by the feeling of freedom. She was vaguely aware that someone had just past here, stopping at a tree that hadn't been there before. She skidded to a stop next to the tree.

The woman leaned against the tree, smiling.

"Hallo, Morgan," she said softly, waving. Morgan mirrored the gesture.

"Hallo, Morgan," she replied. The woman undoubtedly her, but she was a noticeably older. Ten years at least. They stood there for a minute, staring at each other.

"Does everything come out ok?" Morgan asked her older self. The woman nodded. Morgan smiled.

"That's good, then." The woman seemed to agree, but Morgan laughed at the thought. Of course she would agree with herself.

"What happens to everyone?" she asked. The older Morgan shook her head.

"If I tell you, there wouldn't be a point. I've got to go now. The flood's coming," Morgan looked down to see that she was ankle deep in water. She frowned. She hoped that it wasn't a real flood. She couldn't swim. She looked up to ask her older self if she would ever learn, but the older Morgan was gone, as was the tree.

"Well, that's unfair! You can't rabbit off with the tree, too!" she said aloud, as if people normally disappeared into thin air, taking trees as they went. The water rose to her waist, then to her shoulders. Someone grabbed her, pulling her into a boat.

"You should be prepared for the flood, Morgan," a familiar voice said.

"Michael!" Morgan exclaimed, throwing her arms around her brother. "Wait, what flood?"

"You'll know when the time comes," he nodded. "Trust me; you'll know."

---

Morgan opened her eyes, staring into her pillow. She sat up and let her legs dangle off of her loft, stretching and squinting as the sunlight filtered through the roof of the camp. Everyone else was out, except for Robin, who was sitting at the small table, writing.

"You alright, then, Robin?" she asked tentatively. He kept his head down for another minute, finishing a sentence before looking up at Morgan.

"Morgan, I feel obligated to tell you that you aren't allowed to cook anymore. Ever," he replied with a grin. Morgan laughed.

"Understood. I thought of what to do with the leftovers," she smiled brightly, "We could give it to the Sheriff's men. Easy way into the castle."

"One problem with that, Morgan," Robin replied gravely. Morgan tilted her head to the side in slight confusion.

"What?"

"We don't believe in killing unless absolutely necessary." Robin ducked as Morgan playfully bunched up her blanket and threw it at him.

---

The end! I know, it was a shortie, but that's how it was meant to be. I promise, Morgan's dream will make sense later on.

Big thanks to Stripysockz, lekopoet, and lady clark of books for the reviews!

Hope you guys enjoyed it!


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